


A Lot is You

by Infernal_panda



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Stiles, Broken Stiles Stilinski, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hurt Dean Winchester, References to Depression, Revenge, Slow Burn, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Warning: Kate Argent, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:27:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23663095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infernal_panda/pseuds/Infernal_panda
Summary: >>>>DON’T READ<<<<On hiatus for an unknown amount of time😭 sorry guys!!After the werewolves of the Beacon Hills Pack are brutally slaughtered, the remaining members are devastated and lost. Each member grieves in their own way, and Stiles sets out to get revenge against the hunter who tore their lives apart: John Winchester. When he finally finds him, though, he realizes there may be more at work there than he anticipated.Months later, the Winchester brothers are on his turf, battered and bleeding. Despite their obvious distrust of each other, they decide to work together, if only to keep the ones they care about safe. As they delve deeper and deeper into the darkness, they find themselves reaching toward the light that they are finding in building surprising relationships.
Relationships: Lydia Martin/Sam Winchester, Peter Hale/Bobby Singer, Stiles Stilinski/Dean Winchester
Comments: 14
Kudos: 72





	1. Chapter 1

The old dilapidated barn Stiles had spent the last week in sat off of Highway 281, just far enough away from the road to be hidden, but close enough that Stiles could see John pulling an old, faded leather jacket, eerily similar to the one around his own shoulders, from his backseat. Setting up in the loft had been the right choice. The heat of the day was quickly disappearing with the sun, and Stiles was thankful for the four walls around him. It wasn't insulated much and there were lots of holes and damage, but not having to feel the cold wind was respite enough. He rubbed his finger and thumb together impatiently at his side, and took a swig of water.

It had taken Stiles months of research, phone calls and driving to finally find John, but hey, that's to be expected when the dude never stayed in the same state, much less the same city, for longer than a week or two at a time. Danny had helped with what he could, but Stiles felt bad for asking too much. He was grieving too, after all. Then when you add in the various aliases John used, tight lipped leads and dead ends, he was lucky to have found him at all. Nobody believe he would ever make it to this point, not even Chris, but he had.

His eyes followed John as he closed the trunk, weapons in hand, and Stiles' heart was pounding in his ears at the sight. Was this what the man looked like, preparing level headed and cold, the night he brutally murdered Stiles’ best friends? All stubble, intimidation, and ruthlessness? Did he hesitate at all at the prospect of killing a bunch of innocent kids, or was his biggest pause the whole night whether to kill them with a wolfsbane laced machete or bullets? Stiles heard more than felt the grinding of his teeth. He shook his head, reaching for his backpack. He couldn't think about that right now. 

The Manila folder in his hands was something he added to his plan about three months into his search. Every night since his friends died, he had seen their faces in his dreams. Erica and Boyd, still tangled up in each other in death, limbs hanging lifelessly from the side of the couch, blood dripping from Boyd’s fingertips. Isaac on the living room floor, his blonde hair dark and slick against his ashen face. Scott, his best friend in the whole world, dead on the stairs with a comic book in hand, as if he hadn't known there was danger coming at all. Then there was Derek. 

He felt a prickling behind his eyes and let out a strangled breath, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, then shook his hands as if ridding them of the slime that was his memories. If he was going to have to see their faces in death, John was going to have to face seeing what they were like in life. He would see what he took from them, what he took from Melissa and Peter and Lydia and Jackson and Allison. What he took from Stiles.

Stiles jerked away from his thoughts when the barn doors opened. It had taken a lot more effort and energy than he would have liked to set the boundary spell in such a small area, long distance spells often containing too much power to be condensed, but he was glad he wouldn't have to get physical for the part of the fight. He slid easily down the ladder, and John didn’t hesitate even a moment before lifting his gun. 

"What are you doing here?" John asked, looking over Stiles with obvious distrust. 

Stiles' jaw twitched.

Luring John was the easy part. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to tell that he wasn’t like the Argents. Well, not like the sane Argents. He could probably pull off getting confused with Gerard, sure. Psychopathic tendencies, cruel streak a mile wide, no regard for life. Taking that into consideration, he had played with the idea of baiting him through the rumor mill with a “spotting” of a random creature he could pick from the beastiary, but that left too many variables. What didn’t, was the promise of finding the yellow eyed demon. 

“Not who you thought you’d find?” Stiles asked, hoping his voice sounded less freaked than he felt. 

“I’m guessing you aren’t Azazel.”

John waited for his eyes to flash yellow at the mention of the demon’ name, but it never came. Stiles caught the flash of anger at the revelation, his brows furrowing even further, but his finger stayed on the trigger. According to his sources, John wasn’t one that was used to getting deceived. He didn’t gain his infamy in the supernatural world by being sloppy, after all. Stiles smirked. 

“Stiles Stilinski, actually, and you’re John Winchester.” John didn’t seem phased by the introduction. No recognition there at all, not that he had expected there to be. “I’ve heard about the whole demon search, but I gotta say, you’re not so easy to find yourself, John.”

John shifted his stance, his eyes narrowing. 

“What do you want?”

Stiles frowned. What did he want? 

“To talk. Maybe kill you, honestly I’m not sure, but I should probably warn you not to try to shoot me. You know, unless you want some major damage done to your face.”

Just as he finished, John pulled the trigger, and Stiles flinched, instinctively crouching and covering his head and face with gangly arms. When he was sure he wasn’t dead, he stood back up and glared at John, mouth open and eyes scrunched in aggravated disbelief. 

“Dude, what did I just say?”

John dropped the gun and hissed through gritted teeth, holding on to his now bleeding thigh. The bullet had ricocheted off the boundary spell. Stiles sighed, exasperated. Tonight already wasn’t going how he planned.

“My healing spells are shit, and we still have a long night, so you’re just going to have to deal with this for now.” 

Stiles pulled off his backpack and pulled out his first aid kit, running his inner three fingers over it as he muttered something under his breath, then threw it across the boundary. To his delight, it slid across with no hindrance. He was getting much better at this whole magic thing. 

“So you are a demon then? Or a witch? Possessed? Which is it, kid?”

John ignored the med pack and was standing up straight again, obviously trying to cover the lean in his stance, his body rigid but determined. 

“Spark, actually, and you killed my Pack.” He tossed the folder over, pictures of his friends spilling out and spreading across the floor. “Erica Reyes, epilepsy survivor and world’s best Catwoman. Vernon Boyd, tactician extraordinaire and teddy bear. Isaac Lahey, survivor of domestic abuse and an actual puppy child. Scott McCall, my best friend and brother. The True Alpha. Derek Hale, strongest man in the universe. Those are the people you murdered that night. They left family and friends and college applications. Some of them weren’t even 18 yet.”

John glanced down at the floor, scanning the pictures. There were a few from the pack trip to the beach the summer before their murder and candids from various cook outs at Hale House, but a lot were random. Erica and Boyd kissing with goofy, gaudy New Year’s hats that Scott had insisted they buy on their heads, skin flushed pink from wolfsbane alcohol. Isaac, Scott, Jackson, Boyd and Stiles in their Lacrosse uniforms sitting together at a table at some pizza place after a game, smiling after a overwhelming victory, Stiles’ mouth full of pizza as he laughed. Erica, Allison and Lydia posing with each other near the Eiffel Tower, looking like models straight from vogue. Derek and Boyd wrestling playfully by the lake at the preserve, looking more comfortable in their skin than either of the boy’s had their whole lives. 

“They were werewolves. They killed people, kid. They may look like us and act like us, but they are monsters,” John said, but he didn’t look up. His eyes flitted from picture to picture, his unease palpable in the air, but unseen in his stoic features. He finally looked up, a harsh glint in his eyes. “If you were part of this pack then you are as responsible for the blood on their hands as they are.”

Stiles’ eyes narrowed, flashing brightly. 

“There was no blood on their hands, hunter. The only deaths in that town were in self-defense and overseen by Argents,” Stiles clenched his hands to keep them from shaking. “They were just kids. You’re the monster.”

John didn’t waver at the insult. He actually scoffed. “The Argents in Beacon Hills can’t handle their own territory. Why do you think I was sent there in the first place?”

“By who? Who sent you?”

John motioned to the floor. “Mind if I take a seat? If I’m going to be talking all night I guess I should start bandaging my leg.”

Stiles made a ‘sure whatever’ gesture and John nodded. He bent his good leg at the knee until he was almost crouching then leaned backward, bracing for the fall with his arms, hissing as his bad leg rocked with the motion of his movements. He ripped through his pant leg then dug through the kit, pulling out supplies as he talked. 

“The matriarch, Katherine. She called a friend of mine and said they refused to move against a feral pack because they were so,” he squinted down at the gauze as he covered it in antibacterial solution,” unconventionally varied. They were scared that they wouldn’t be able to take them out on their own.”

Stiles blanched. Katherine. Kate wasn’t dead? That didn’t make sense, she couldn’t have...but what if he was telling the truth? It would make sense for her to sick someone on their group. If wanting to kill them for their parts in her death, or maybe not so dead death, wasn’t enough, coming back for Derek himself would be. Before Stiles could even think properly he was pinning John down with his magic, sitting on his chest, knife at his throat. 

“What do you know about Kate Argent?”

Before John could open his mouth to answer, someone slammed into his barrier spell. 

“Dad!” 

Three men sat outside the barrier, two dressed in jeans and layered shirts, the other in a trench coat, looking like he came straight out of one of those old cop movies he used to watch with his dad. The long haired one’s eyes flitted anxiously around the room, as if trying to absorb all the information he could as fast as possible, his mouth agape in worry. Trench coat was watching with a pained expression as the other man slammed against the barrier, over and over, trying to punch his way through.

“Get the hell away from him!” He roared, shoulder ramming into the invisible wall. “Fucking touch him and I will murder the hell out of you!”

Stiles felt a pang of sympathy. He knew Winchester had kids when he searched him out, but he didn’t let that sway him from his mission. They would be okay. They were old enough to take care of themselves if things went south, so he pushed it to the back of his mind. He looked down at John again, choosing to ignore them and pressing the knife deeper into John’s skin. “Kate. What do you know?”

“I’m not telling you anything,” John spat. “You think you can get me to tell you anything? I’m a hunter. That actually means something to some people.” 

Stiles’ head was pounding. He had only been practicing about 6 months, and his stamina was subpar. The boundary spell didn’t take up too much magic when it was up. Usually. But he also never tried to keep it up with a muscley lumberjack slamming against it. Between that and pinning John he was feeling himself drain. He tried to push past the pain and focus. 

“Being a hunter means something? What, that you are the protectors? The guardians? Kate murdered the Hale Pack. All of them. Kids, humans, witches, even a pregnant woman. Burned them alive in their own homes by blocking their ways out with mountain ash. Wanna know how she did it?” He searched John’s face. He remained composed. “That sick fuck seduced a fifteen year old boy when she was 23 years old. She made him tell her things then used the information to burn his family alive!”

Stiles lifted his hand, and a picture of stiles and Derek appeared in his hand and shoved it in his face. It was Stiles’ favorite picture. Lydia has taken it the night that Derek officially invited Stiles to the Pack. It had been Scott who told Derek that Stiles wasn’t sure where he stood in the Pack, but Derek asked Lydia to help him plan the night out. They spent that morning hiking, much to Stiles’ dismay, but when they arrived, there were tents and lanterns already set up in a cleaning near a spring, a cooler full of hot dogs and s’mores waiting to be cooked and eaten. After dinner, Derek asked him to join the Pack then hugged Stiles after he accepted. Hugged. It was everything Stiles had ever wanted, and the picture captured the night perfectly: Derek and Stiles sitting on a boulder together, the light of the fire lighting up their features as they laughed at the rest of their friends. 

“This boy was fifteen and he lost his family, his innocence, his everything. Then you took it all over again, along with his life.” Stiles’ voice broke.

“Dad, is that true?” Sam asked, hands clenching at his side. “Kate did that?”

“Course it’s not true, Sammy. Dad wouldn’t do that and neither would Kate,” Dean scoffed. John stared at the picture, the first flicker of guilt breaking through his composed facade. 

“She manipulated you,” Stiles continued, feeling breathless. “She made you finish what she started.”

“Dad?” Sam repeated, the word sounding like a plea.

“The Spark is telling the truth,” Castiel said, casting a worried glance at Dean, who froze with his testimony. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

Stiles knew as soon as he looked up at the trio again that he made a mistake. Sam was looking down at his feet, one hand knotted in his long hair. His eyes, brown and big and puppy like, reminded him of Scotty so much it hurt. Stiles tried to swallow but couldn’t. Then there was Dean. The thrashing and fighting had finally stopped, but the fire and anger were still burning in his eyes, and why shouldn’t it be? Stiles was going to kill his father. Wasn’t he? 

Stiles was shaking too hard to hide it now. He could feel the tears balancing on the edge, threatening to spill over if he dared blink. He growled underneath his breath and pulled the knife away from John’s neck. He knew Kate. Realistically, he was the only tie to her that he had. It would be stupid to kill him, at least until he did what his part in fixing what he destroyed. 

Stiles pressed on his thigh, making John gasp in pain.

“You fucker!” Dean yelled, his voice sounding more frantic than angry now. “He didn’t know!”

John’s muscles shifted beneath his fingers, the bullet pulling itself to the surface before knitting the top layer of skin together. It wasn’t perfect, and he wasn’t exactly healed, but it was the best he could do. He picked the knife back up, but didn’t put it too close, unsure if he’d be able to control his hands enough not to make him bleed. 

“You will call Chris Argent and tell him everything you know about Kate, and you will adopt their code or give up hunting all together, I really don’t care which. You murdered my friends and nothing you do will ever absolve you of that, but you were manipulated. You are guilty, and you are stupid, but stupidity doesn’t necessarily require an execution, but I’m willing to change my mind if I ever find out you killed an innocent again.” Stiles looked up at the three men at the door. “You’re the only reason he’s walking away tonight. If you care about him at all, keep him from being a speciesist dick.” 

Stiles stood up and stepped behind the boundary, then dropped the one at the door. Dean practically fell into the door, then he and Sam scrambled forward to help their father up. Stiles ignored their glares and worried glances, focusing solely on John. 

“You going to kill her?” John asked, brushing his pants off. 

Stiles gave him a terse nod. 

John’s lips tilted down. “Give her hell.”


	2. Back to Beacon Hills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A peek into the Winchester’s life post-Stilinski, and a reunion that feels not so good.

Dean sat on the hood of the Camaro, looking out over the dried grass and parched, cracking dirt, his hands knotted together, elbows resting on his knees. He could hear Sam’s footsteps crunching the dirt beneath his boots as he paced around the car, but he couldn’t look up at him. It was the second time in a month they got their asses handed to them by some freak of nature they couldn’t begin to guess what it was. They thought they’d seen everything, yet here they were, in the middle of the freaking desert, bruised like peaches and nothing to show for it. 

Things weren’t looking good. Dad was missing. Cas left two months ago. Bobby was running ragged with all the jobs popping up everywhere. Without their family there to back them, well. The road ahead didn’t seem too keen on letting them make it out alive this time. 

Dean’s eye twitched. It was that scrawny kid’s fault. Sure, they had their problems long before he tried to maim their father but now? It seemed like every day they were waking up to bad news. As if thwarting the apocalypse wasn’t enough for the universe to finally cut them a little slack, they were now having to deal with the sudden increase of supernatural disturbances cropping up every where and they didn’t even have their dad to ask for help. 

“We need to call on Cas,” Sam said finally. Dean cringed. He hadn’t even noticed his footsteps stopped. “We can’t keep going in by ourselves when we don’t even know what we are fighting.”

“No, Sammy,” Dean snapped. 

“He could help. He would want to. I know you guys aren’t getting along right now, but-“

“But nothing! He made how he felt about me abundantly clear. He doesn’t have faith in me, remember? I made him ruin his life just for me to turn out to be a disappointment. Well guess what, Sam? We figured that shit out without him. Lucifer’s in the cage and we saved the goddamn world! After everything we’ve been through, he bailed when we needed him the most. Look around and guess who didn’t come back to say he’s sorry,” Dean said, waving his hands at the empty space around him. 

“You were going to give yourself up! You know Cas just wanted to keep you safe.”

“So he beat the shit out of me and left me for dead in some back ass alley? If you wouldn’t have shown up I probably would have bled out,” Dean shouted. Hearing the words come out of his mouth made his chest ache. It made him want to call out to Cas, ask him why. Why he left, why he never came back, why he acted like he cared if he was just going to walk away anyway, but he was too afraid to face the answer. Sam looked like he was going to argue, but his shoulders sagged. Dean sighed. 

Every time he thought he got over it, he was yelling at his brother again. It wasn’t Sam’s fault. It was his. 

“If we figured out how to stop the damn apocalypse, we can figure this out. Okay? We will find dad. Again. Once we do that, everything will go back to the way it’s supposed to be.”

Sam nodded, absentmindedly running a hand through sweaty hair. It wasn’t like he didn’t see Dean’s point. Castiel fucked up. He was upset and he took it way too far. It didn’t take someone with a psych degree to see that Castiel had broken down some of Dean’s walls, and that made everything so much worse. Sam had to admit though, Dean was definitely in the wrong for trying to escape the vault. They were just trying to keep him from giving himself up as a vessel, just trying to buy time so that they could try to come up with options, but instead of trusting them to find some, he tricked Castiel into opening the vault then banished him, giving him time to escape. If Castiel hadn’t caught up to him and stopped him that day, things could have went a lot differently. Not that Sam dared say that to Dean. 

Sam’s phone rang from inside the Camaro. He glanced at Dean one more time, noticing his brother’s brows knitted together even tighter now as he looked over the land, then opened the car door. He pushed his folders out of his seat and onto the floor, shuffling for his phone. 

“Winchester.” 

“Hello, am I speaking with Sam or Dean?” A woman asked. 

“Sam. How can I help you?”

“I was actually hoping I could help you. A Mr.,” she scanned the paper in front of her, “Bobby Singer relayed through the grapevine that you’ve been running into some unknowns on recent hunts. My Pa-Pals and I have been researching and think we may have some answers to what you’ve been running into just from the notes Mr. Singer was able to provide.”

Sam tapped on the windshield with a knuckle to get Dean’s attention. Dean raised an eyebrow, and Sam pointed to the phone. Dean hopped off the hood and opened the door, looking questioningly at his brother. Sam put the phone on speaker, and held his finger up at Dean. 

“These pals of yours. What interest do they have in helping a couple of random hunters,” Sam asked. 

“Well, I’m not sure if you are aware, Mr. Winchester, but you and your brother seem to have made yourselves infamous within the community with your latest endeavors, despite having no prior training. My friends and I, we aren’t exactly your typical band of hunters and having people like you back our cause would bring more people in. We try to focus on more of the teaching aspect of hunting than the physical, and that tends to scare people away.”

“I’m sorry, what did you say your name was again?”

“Allison Agent, matriarch of the Argent Bloodline,” she said, authority dripping in the title.

Sam looked over at Dean, who’s face instantly hardened. Neither of them had really talked about what had happened the night at the barn, outside what was necessary, but the things they’d learned about Kate, the girl they had met many times over the years at Jo’s bar, were hard to forget. They didn’t talk about it though. Dad wanted them to keep an ear out for Kate, so they did. That was all that was expected of them. They didn’t have to think about the fact that their dad killed kids, because they weren’t kids, they were monsters. They didn’t have to think about the fact that their father looked like he felt guilty, because they’d obviously seen it wrong. Their father wouldn’t feel bad for killing werewolves. 

Would he?

“Argent?” Sam repeated. “Of Beacon Falls?”

“Hills, dumbass,” Dean muttered. Sam rolled his eyes. . 

Allison went quiet, her voice muffled as if a hand covered the end of the phone. 

“I apologize. I wasn’t aware that you knew who we were. I was under the impression that you were raised independent from the Hunting network,” Allison said, sounding genuinely apologetic. “However, if you have access to the archives and are still unable to identify them, my team is more than capable of assisting.”

Dean scoffed. “Like we would trust an Argent.”

Sam ignored him. “Archives? What archives?”

Allison paused again. “Are you not registered hunters?” 

Neither of them answered. Allison pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. 

“Let’s start over, okay? My name is Allison Argent of Beacon Hills. I am a descendant of one of the oldest families of hunters in recorded history. Registered hunters, typically made up of families who were born into the business, have a network for cataloging and recording supernatural creatures, built upon for over a century. However, in the last few years, my family and I realized that the network, as well as our code, has often led to more harm than good in the supernatural community. We found books and records that had never been seen by hunters before, and we want to be able to help people with them, but we refuse to give information to people unless they are taught how to deal with the problems efficiently.”

“Bullshit,” Dean scoffed. “We aren’t joining your messed up cult just to get answers. If we can’t kill is with silver, iron or wolfsbane, I’m sure fire or decapitation will work.”

“Dean,” Sam chastised, sending him a sharp look. Dean didn’t look phased. “I’m sorry. We appreciate your help, but we don’t know you and we can’t trust you. If you want to send us some information to help us out and call it a favor, we’d gladly accept, but we can’t just pledge ourselves or whatever it is you’re expecting.”

“You wouldn’t be pledging yourself to anything. We follow a code to protect those who can’t protect themselves. We would ask that you meet with us, and make your own decision from there,” she explained. “If you like what you hear, you adopt it for yourselves and gain access to our information and resources. If not, you walk. Simple as that.”

“Why do I feel like I’m getting swindled into a time share?” Dean mumbled. “We’ve done this for years on our own, lady. We don’t need your help.”

Sam didn’t argue. The idea itself didn’t sound bad. Protecting people and whatnot. Just because it didn’t sound bad didn’t necessarily mean it was true. They only knew a handful of hunters, but none of them had ever mentioned any network or bloodlines or whatever. They had their own little group of hunters around the states who’d stayed in touch after running into each other over the years, but nothing like the woman was describing. 

“The offer still stands. For you two and Singer if he will have us. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be of more help, but thank you for your time.” There was a muffled female voice in the background, then she spoke again. “Before you go, my Second wanted me to relay a message from an associate that your father is welcome to join us as well, but he would have to meet with him in private before he would allow him to enter Beacon Hills.”

Sam looked over at Dean in confusion, but he was staring at the phone. 

“Stiles,” Dean said, confidently. Sam bit the inside of his cheek. 

“I-yes. I’m sorry, do you know him?”

Dean snatched the phone out of Sam’s hand and snapped it shut. Sam balked, stuttering incredulously.

“Seriously? You’re just going to hang up on them?”

“What did you want us to do? Keep entertaining the fact that we would team up with werewolf sympathizers? You know that’s what she meant by being different, right? They probably shack up with werewolves and god knows what else.”

“They couldn’t very well be shacking up with werewolves when dad killed them all could they?”

Dean groaned loudly, the end coming out almost as a growl. “Dude, we aren’t having this conversation. This is like those vegetarian vampires all over again!”

Sam cringed at the memory. He hated thinking about that day. It never sat right with him that Dean killed those vampires, knowing they weren’t feeding on humans. It’s only a matter of time, Sammy. What if they snap? Their blood would be on our hands if we let them live. Could you live with that? Because I can’t. No matter how much Dean reasoned killing them, Sam couldn’t feel the same way. Then when he found out about dad..

He saw the pictures the kid had on the floor of the barn. They didn’t look like wolves. They looked like kids. Happy kids. Happier than they had ever been, that’s for sure. A small part of his brain supplied answers for seeing them that way. That was the point of shifting between forms, wasn’t it? They appeared normal long enough to get close, and then they sink their teeth in your neck. Was it really that easy to write them off though?

The kid didn’t seem to think so. He was broken. Sam knew exactly what that looked like, what it felt like to have the weight of the world on his shoulders. He’d seen it in himself. Dean. Bobby. You don’t get hollowed eyes like that over people who mean nothing to you. 

“Lets just go,” Sam sighed, closing his eyes and resting his head against the window. It didn’t matter what he thought. He’d fucked up enough for a lifetime or two. He couldn’t expect Dean just to accept the gut feeling he had over years of hunting experience. They had killed werewolves at least a dozen times and they weren’t anything like the kids in those pictures, so he needed to have faith that Dean and their experiences were right. 

Dean looked over at him, worry creasing his brow, but he didn’t question him. He stuck the key in the ignition and they headed to their motel. 

****

That night, Sam walked about a quarter mile down the street to a small antique shop, and sat down on the curb. Even with the street lamps, it was darker than Sam was usually comfortable with. It wasn’t as hard to deal with when he was with Dean, but alone? He’d avoid it if he could. He may have only spent a few minutes in hell according to Earth time, but it felt like years inside the pit. That seemed to be Lucifer’s go to for psychological torture. No sound or light, nothing to focus on but his pain and misery. A chill went down his spine at the thought. 

A few seconds after Sam made himself comfortable on the curb, Castiel appeared, hovering over him. He looked tired, but that was the normal for him. Sam gave him a small smile. 

“Sam,” Castiel greeted, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

“Hey Cas. Any luck?”

Castiel shook his head. “John said he found an old contact of hers in New Mexico but even if it pans out he will refuse to come back until he figures out what is going on. He says he no longer believes in coincidences.” 

Sam quirked his head. “What do you mean?” 

Castiel sighed dramatically, sitting down beside Sam. “The apocalypse. The Beacon Hills kids being slaughtered. The creatures rising up.” Castiel shrugged. “It seems too convenient for such different events to overlap.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “He thinks they are connected?”

Castiel nodded. “It seems that the Stilinski boy has not yet heard about your victory against Lucifer, if he knew of the apocalypse at all. John is reluctant to trust the boy but according to rumors, the Beacon Hills pack has made quite a name for themselves, and he seems to have been a vital component to their victories. They beat adversaries we would not have lasted five minutes against.”

“And dad managed to wipe them out, just like that?”

Castiel winced. “Apparently there is honor amongst most supernatural creatures. They announce their presence before attacking. As you know, hunters don’t share the same sentiment.”

Sam nodded, frowning at the pavement. “Do you think that’s true? You know. That they could be good?”

The corner of Castiel’s lips quirked up on one side, but his eyes were still sad. “I no longer believe in definites.” 

Sam wasn’t sure he liked that answer. “Wait, how do you know that Stilinski isn’t aware of what happened?”

Castiel pulled out a charm, small and wooden, metal designs hammered into its carved surface. “I acquired a talisman to hide myself from the Spark. My Father warned about them in the Bible, that Sparks would lead His people astray with power not given my Him. I was willing to push my doubts about the child aside, until John needed to know if he could be trusted, but when John expressed his doubts, I admit I was more than willing to tail him, curious to see what abilities he had and how he used them. It seems that he has only recently come into power but it would be hard to deny that he is powerful. He has very little practice, but uses powerful spells, helping where he can.” Castiel paused, looking at Sam’s hopeful expression, interrupting his thoughts before they could come to fruition, offering him a sad smile. 

“Sorry Sam. I can’t say with certainty if his help is the kind we would welcome. He seems to prioritize protecting his own above all else, and according to the various phone calls he receives throughout the day, there are more than enough creatures plaguing Beacon Hills to keep him busy.”

Sam huffed out a disbelieving laugh. “Busy enough not to notice the apocalypse?” 

“It would seem so,” Castiel nodded. Same couldn’t quite wrap his head around that. He knew there were a lot of creatures out there, but that couldn’t be right. Castiel tilted his head back, his eyes flashing, then turned apologetically to Sam. “I must go. It seems my assistance is needed.”

Sam nodded, standing up and wiping the dirt from the back of his pants. “Thanks for the update.”

Castiel waved his hand. “Think nothing of it. Just-“ he winced, looking sheepish. “Just keep an eye on Dean for me.”

Sam wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. He wanted to yell at him, tell him to do it himself and just freaking apologize, but he wouldn’t. Last time they had that fight Castiel hadn’t talked to him for two weeks, and he couldn’t afford to lose him. 

“Always.” 

****  
Two Weeks Later 

Lydia was miserable. 

Stiles wasn't even in Beacon Hills and he could see it in the short flashes of her life that he received through their daily interactions. Red rimmed eyes over FaceTime, like he had seen again this morning. She was avoiding him more and more. Posting more frequently on her Facebook and Instagram than he had ever seen, but only with obviously old pictures and interesting articles as opposed to status updates and on the fly selfies. Bouts of anger over things that she wouldn't usually pay any mind to. Texts from Allison saying Lydia had missed school. She was miserable, and he couldn't blame her really. 

They all were. It seemed like their lives had all ended the same night as the rest of the Pack's, any semblance of normalcy and happiness was snuffed out as easily as the flame at the end of its wick. He could see it in himself and Lydia the most, as they seemed to be the two most intertwined within the Pack, but Jackson and Allison weren't taking it well either. Jackson went back to Europe after just two weeks, saying he couldn’t be there anymore, and Allison focused her grief on spending every waking hour reconnecting with Hunters, trying to preach the new oath and gathering information for Stiles where she could. 

Then there was Peter. Peter, who had become an unlikely sense of comfort for the pack of reckless teens. Peter, who never let anything break him, not even death itself. Yeah. Stiles didn't like to think about Peter, not even a little. He didn't like remembering the haunted look on his face when he saw the yellow tape tied to stakes around the Pack House. He didn't like to think of the broken hunch in his shoulders, the blue eyes that shone that much more against the unnaturally bloodshot whites. Losing one pack in a lifetime was horrifying. Losing two...

So Stiles tried not to think about Peter. 

Even Stiles' father, who was only ever really close to him and Scott, seemed to be hanging on by a thread. Knowing that five of the kids he had been around so frequently were all murdered in one fell swoop was enough to shake him to his core. It was part of the reason Stiles had to leave. Seeing the "what if it had been you" etched on his father's face every time he looked at Stiles made him feel sick at his stomach. 

Stiles clenched the handle of the gas nozzle a few times, shaking it before pulling it out and putting it back on the holder. He squinted at the price on the display, sun in his eyes, cringing at the total. He did some math in his head, trying to remember the total from the diner that morning, the extra set of clothes he bought the night before, and now the gas. He frowned. It wasn't as bad as he thought, but he wouldn't be able to keep this lifestyle up much longer. 

He had to admit he wasn't exactly disappointed at the revelation. He missed everyone. He hadn't seen anyone face-to-face in almost eight months. He often wondered if his friends felt like he abandoned them. Lydia batted his concerns away anytime he voice his concerns with a flick of her wrist, but Stiles knew that his friends would deny it, even if they did see it that way. Even without their anger or hurt, felt guilty that he couldn't be there for them like he should be, like Scott or Derek would have been, even if he knew that leaving was the only thing that kept him from completely falling apart. 

Not that it had made a difference so far. 

Kate was in the wind. He let Winchester go. He was eating through what little money he had left in his account, day after day, trying to find justice for his friends and for what? What was he achieving driving mindlessly across the states that he couldn’t do at home?

Stiles took his fountain drink and keys off the hood of his Jeep and walked around to get in the front seat. He started it up, thankful for the air flow before it even got cold. He stared out the windshield thinking about how his future could look, wondering if he would live long enough for him to wonder, then a blinding pain shot through his brain, making his vision blur. 

Stiles screamed, pressing his hands against his temples, willing the pain to go away. It was like his brain was being fried from the inside, bubbling and bursting over and over like giant blisters leaving the tissue remaining open and raw. Stiles slammed his head into the steering wheel, the temporary respite worth the jarring of what was left of his vision. 

Then it was gone. Stiles was shaking viciously, terrified that even the smallest movement would bring back the pain. His stomach rolled with nausea, and it felt like he was on a merry go round, spinning in a slow circle. He could feel the hot sweat rolling down his back starting to cool against his skin. 

“Stiles?” Lydia shrieked. “What the hell?”

Stiles shook off his surprise just in time to notice a giant hunter looming over her in the trees. The hunter turned, snarling and bloodied, trying to find the reason for her outburst. His eyes landed and locked on Stiles. He lifted his gun to point it at him. Stiles’ eyes widened and he swatted at the air instinctively, knocking the gun from the man’s hand as the shot rang out in the clearing. Stiles almost fell, dodging away from the stray bullet, not knowing if it was pointed toward him or not. The man wasn’t phased by Stiles’ show of power. He charged at him, but Stiles managed to slink past him with a quick maneuver, and punched him in the face. 

“Gonna regret that, rat,” he seethed, a new cut leaking blood from his cheek. The man grabbed his arm and spun him, forcing Stiles’ arm into a painful position. Stiles yelped at the sharp pain, crumbling as the man forced him to the ground. The hunter sat on his back, and punched the back of his head, probably trying to knock him unconscious. Stiles’ vision rocked, but he managed to blast him into the large rock formation on his left. There was a sickening crack, but Stiles friend not to dwell on it.

“Ow, you asshole!” He yelled at the dead body, standing carefully to avoid tipping, rubbing the tender spot on the back of his head. 

“Stiles!”

Stiles swiveled back around, finding Jackson writhing on the ground, his veins bulging and black in the moonlight.

“Wolfsbane,” Lydia shouted, shakily. She was leaning over him, one elbow pressed into his chest attempting to hold him down, her hands working to light a match. Stiles didn’t hesitate to take over. He straddled Jackson and pinned his arms down as best as he could with his magic. 

“No homo, Jacks,” Stiles laughed nervously.

Lydia dropped the matches, biting into the bullet at her side and pouring the wolfsbane mixture into Jackson’s wound. Jackson growled, snapping his jaws, mind obviously effected by whatever strain they used, but Stiles ignored him. Stiles snapped his fingers and the wolfsbane sparked, sending smoke swirling into the air as it burned the wolfsbane from his blood. 

“Are we sure if that was all of them?” The unfamiliar gravelly voice jarred him back to the battle. Before Lydia could even think to stop him, Stiles was on his feet, muttering a spell as he swiped at the attackers, slamming them against the rocks.

Allison, who was apparently knocked out in the after an altercation with a presumably vicious bush, pushed herself off the ground, holding what looked to be a broken bow. “No, Stiles, stop!”

Stiles glanced at her, then back at the attackers. Addison wouldn’t tell him to stop for no reason. Stiles gritted his teeth, growling as he loosened his grip. He didn’t release them completely. “Somebody needs to tell me what the fuck is going on like ten minutes ago.”

“You making friends with assholes would be my guess,” Jackson croaked, leaning into Lydia for support. 

Stiles scoffed. “You didn’t seem to mind when you were the asshole.”

“Yeah, well. I’m worth it. Good to see you back, fucker.”

“Back at you. Someone want to tell me what the hell happened?” Stiles pressed.

“They are seeking asylum,” Lydia said hurriedly, her eyes flitting nervously between the trio and Stiles. 

“Yeah, and where the hell did that warm welcome we were promised go?” One of the men said. Stiles stepped closer. Even in the dark he could see the familiar green eyes glaring at him. 

This wasn’t making any fucking sense. 

“Winchesters?”

Stiles let them drop to the ground, and one of them hissed in pain. 

“Seriously, Stiles? Dean was stabbed, you idiot,” Lydia snapped. Stiles blinked away the surprise he felt as she stalked over to the three men, her bright heels looking strange and out of place among the darker forest colors. Stiles slowly looked around, trying to piece together what was going on. 

“Hunters were after them,” Allison explained from behind him. He crossed his arms. 

“Ooo, is that the therapeutic melody of Karma singing her ass off right now?”

Allison frowned, but didn’t comment. 

“Any reason you guys didn’t feel the need to fill me in on this? Or that Jackson’s back? Where the hell is Peter?” Stiles asked, irritation starting to peel through his concern. “Wait. Don’t tell me you didn’t tell him you were coming out here.”

Allison frowned, crossing her arms defensively. 

“We didn’t want to bother you guys. We know how hard this is and honestly,” Allison shook her head, placing a soft hand on his arm. “This isn’t you guys’ problem. This was all Argent business.”

“Peter is your Alpha, and you know, just because you put ‘Argent’ in front of something, doesn’t negate that it’s Pack business too,” Stiles countered. He pulled his arm away, ignoring the look on Allison’s face. He didn’t want to apologize right now, so he just needed to step away. 

Jackson passed him, giving him an apologetic grimace. Stiles placed a gentle hand on his arm then walked over to the Hunter they had taken out before he got there. He huffed in amusement. Good to know Jackson at least got to tear into the guy that shot him. He bent over and picked up his gun and checked it for ammo. His lips turned down in surprise to find almost all the bullets were still inside, then turned on the safety before tucking it into his pants. There were three hunters total, it seemed. He was glad he turned up when he did. He was glad that his Pack was able to take out the two on their own, but he didn’t want to think about what could have happened if he hadn’t been there. 

Stiles turned toward the sound of tearing fabric. Lydia held up the strip of Sam’s plaid over shirt, and Sam started to fiddle with it, trying to figure out whether to wrap his brother’s wound or keep pressure on it. 

“Do you think we need to take him to the hospital? We know a nurse that-“

“We aren’t involving, Melissa,” Stiles said firmly. 

Lydia turned to glare at him.

“So what we let him bleed out or get an infection?” She snapped back. Stiles rolled his eyes and walked over. 

“No, I mean that I’ve got it handled, Lyds.”

Lydia hesitated, looking from Dean to Sam. Stiles watched, confused, and his confusion only worsened when Lydia only relented to move after Sam gave her a small nod. Stiles tried to tell himself not to be offended at that because, like what? 

Dean’s eyes were starting to droop, long eyelashes fluttering on his cheeks, heavy from fatigue and pain. He crouched down, his knees pressing into the cool, damp earth. He lifted Dean’s shirt and pressed his hand to Dean’s side. The coldness of his hand sent shivers down Dean’s spine, and he sighed in relief as the wound slowly stitched itself back together. 

“Fuck,” Dean groaned throatily. Stiles grinned and tried not to think how unbelievably hot that sounded, or that he had been the one to make him do it. Sure, it wasn’t by anything sexual, but healing stab wounds counts. 

“You’re welcome, big guy.”

Allison huffed out a laugh, and suddenly they were all laughing, Sam and Castiel looking at them all like they were a bit unhinged. 

Stiles stood up and lifted his arms. 

“Well, Winchesters and trench coat guy. Welcome to Beacon Hills.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The writing is definitely choppy, but forgive me. I have no Betas, and I can only reread my own work so many times before I want to jump from a bridge. Thanks for your support!


	3. Chapter 2: Back to Beacon Hills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beacon Hills’ newest(not so new) alpha gets propositioned (in a way that isn’t in the least bit sexual, which is unfortunate if you ask me.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short chapter, but I really wanted to get at least part of the chapter out today. I will post the second half of this chapter as it’s own sometime tomorrow. Hope you guys enjoy!

Stiles was grateful, in a kind of sick, twisted way, that only one of his friends in his present company was a werewolf. He had gotten much better at steadying his heartbeat when he lied, a request Derek had pushed on him after his run in with the Alphas, and he found a herbology book that aided in the production of a scent blocker, his first (successful) handcrafted potion, but not even he had found a way to control his heartbeat during his sleep. If he was surrounded by his friends, puppy piled and warm, there would have been no chance of him hiding his nightmares from them. Then again, if they were there, his nightmares wouldn’t be nearly as bad as they were. 

It was such a strange thing to feel weird about, really. He knew he wasn’t the only one that had nightmares. How could he be, after all the shit they were drug though? He could see it surrounding all of them, a dark blanket of weariness, clutching them so tightly they couldn’t remember what it was like to breathe normally anymore. It didn’t keep him from feeling guilty about it though. 

After making it to Jackson’s loft, the group disbanded, willing to put off the pressing questions and looming interrogations until morning, hopefully letting themselves get their thoughts straight in the meantime. He feigned disinterest as he watched Lydia and Allison walk to the kitchen together, whispering to each other quietly, under the guise of finding a midnight snack. He didn’t have the energy to point out how obvious they were being, but he did feel a bit alienated, even if he wasn’t willing to admit it to himself. He tried not to seem disappointed when they bid him goodnight. 

Stiles could tell Jackson wanted to talk at least, but after heaving a spell-drunk and exhausted Dean up the stairs and fighting off his weakened state from the Wolfsbane, he retreated to his bedroom, looking thoroughly worn, but only after giving Stiles a brotherly punch on the shoulder. Stiles stood in the living room for a while after that, staring after Jackson, thinking about how much things had changed from Freshman year. He and Scott were the only friends the other had. Jackson seemingly hated him. Lydia didn’t notice him. There were no werewolves or Kanimas or Alpha packs, no hunters trying to kill them at every turn. They were lonely sure, but did it compare at all to the feeling of emptiness he had now? 

Stiles could feel his eyes brimming with tears, but he just stared at Jackson’s door, refusing to let them fall. If anyone ever told him he would be this painfully close to Jackson, he would have probably laughed himself into a coma, but here he was, falling apart from the comfort of a small punch on the arm. 

Stiles tried to make himself comfortable on the couch, but the sound of shuffling coming from the floor above was more than a little unsettling. He didn’t like the idea of trying to fall asleep with people he didn’t know prancing around, especially not hunters. Not that Stiles hated them or anything. Stiles had meant it when he told Lydia he thought the Winchesters would be an asset to her cause. They were well-known, for one. Respected, if not feared, kind of like boogeymen. Hot boogeymen. If their talent and renown weren’t enough, their connections and ability to hide in plain sight certainly tipped the scales. It wasn’t enough to make Stiles trust them though. If anything he was a bit wary of their seemingly infinite skill set. 

Stiles was especially impressed when he learned about their FBI personas. John mentioned them in passing, as if it were no big deal that they were able to creep into crime scenes practically unnoticed, despite being two of the most wanted criminals in the US. Danny has some skill, but making legit looking FBI ID’s and warrants weren’t in his repertoire. Yet. 

John seemed to see a lot of things differently than the average person would Stiles noticed, even with as brief as their communications were. It was obvious that the Winchesters weren’t like any other Hunters they had ever met before. He didn’t really forgive John, not at all honestly, but knowing that he had nobody teaching and guiding him through the world of the supernatural made him hate him just a little less. That is, until John stopped replying to his messages.

Stiles was aware that there weren’t a whole lot of different scenarios in which John would disappear without mentioning it to anyone. Murder, maiming, car crash, or you know, something else bloody and painful. He knew that those things were a distinct possibility, especially when considering his day job, but Stiles knew in his gut that wasn’t the case. He was safe and alive and pissing Stiles off. 

After a few frustrating hours, Stiles finally walked over to the kitchen, pulling his blanket and pillow behind him. He knew he couldn’t let anyone else see him like this, but he didn’t see any other option if he was going to get any sleep. He pushed one of the kitchen chairs out of the way, giving himself plenty of room to squeeze underneath, and set his blanket and pillow down, fluffing it up a bit before climbing underneath and laying down. Almost immediately Stiles relaxed. He wasn’t sure if it was from sleeping in his Jeep for so long, or if the closeness of his surroundings gave him some bizarre sense of comfort, but he felt less stressed than he felt all night. 

Stiles set an alarm, and was up again in three hours. Knowing everyone else had a late night meant that waking up at 8 AM was probably a little too cautious, but he needed to get a lot of things done today, and he wouldn’t be able to do them if his friends were freaking out because they found him sleeping under the table. God, that sounds so stupid. He pulled himself off the floor, bleary eyed and unsteady, and started the coffee pot. 

Stiles planned his return to Beacon Hills a million times, and this was the exact opposite of what he wanted it to be like. He knew that it wasn’t really his fault that he hadn’t followed his initial plan, but he wasn’t going to put off what he needed to do, not for any longer than what he had already. Stiles spent almost two minutes looking for his keys before remembering his magical poof left him without a car.

Stiles stomped pathetically, cursing his bad luck, then swallowed his pride and walked to the guest room that Allison and Lydia were using. He gently shook Allison’s shoulder, pulling a faint and groggy protest from her lips. When she was finally awake enough to be coherent, he managed to talk Allison into letting him borrow her car, with the promise nothing bad would happen to it, with hardly any objection. 

Stiles would be lying if he said he knew what he was feeling, realizing that he was home in the harsh light of morning. It seemed like the overwhelming sensations of his hyper vigilance had been amplified. He was taking in too many images and sounds, and now, too many emotions. It was a panic-y feeling, a buzzing of confused hormones and adrenaline meshing with the sharp sensation of something being awry. The twisted notion of unfamiliarity of the town. He knew the roads, the buildings, the people, but it didn't feel real. It felt wrong. 

Stiles could already feel himself starting to sink again, and quickly pulled over in front of the old car lot a few blocks from the school. He took a deep, shutters breath. He told himself he wasn't going to do this. He made a commitment to pushing through this the moment he decided to stick around the night before. He couldn't leave them again, and he didn't want to. He would have to leave again eventually, but until he had more information, he was going to enjoy what time he had with his family. What was left of them, anyway. He cursed under his breath, shaking slightly. 

"Get it together Stilinski," he muttered to himself. "It's almost been nine months. Get it together." 

He ran his hands over his face, leaving his forefingers pressed against his eyes for a moment before putting the car in drive again. 

In less than ten minutes, he was parked in the shade of bright towering trees outlining the perimeter of the Pack (Hale) House. The sun was already shining brightly, quickly making its way across the sky. The warmth was welcome, but he knew that a lack of heat source wasn’t the reason behind his tremors. Stiles didn't even allow himself to ponder where the next few minutes would take him. The moment his Jeep was turned off, he was opening the door, refusing his mind the chance to talk himself out of it before walking across the beautifully green grass to the house that plagued his nightmares, and knocked on the door. Stiles tried not to focus on the vacant parking spaces next to his or the empty porch swing. He stared at the wood in front of him until the door opened.

Peter's footsteps were purposeful, and didn't slow as he approached the door. His face was etched with agitatation, presumably from being pulled from whatever he was doing, showing just how little he was relying on his werewolf senses. His face kept its irritated scowl until his brain caught up to his eyes. They widened a fraction, but then he was the epitome of suave, lifting an arm to rest on the doorway. 

"Stiles. What a surprise," he crooned, a soft tilt of his lips. "To what do I owe the pleasure? I wasn't aware you were back in town."

Peter looked different. It wasn't really a bad different. It was just-different. His eyes looked better than he last saw, but that probably didn't mean much for a werewolf, super healing and all that. Though there weren't any physical signs of his mental state, the casual loose fit clothing and unkempt hair said more than Peter ever would. 

Stiles debated calling him out on his nonchalance, wanting to check on him and ask how he was, but that wasn’t why he was here. Stiles wasn’t there to be his friend, he was there on a mission. Stiles took a deep breath, steeling himself, and tilted his head to the side, just enough to make his intentions clear. Peter's amused smirk fell. 

"Alpha Hale. I, Stiles Stilinski, vow to lay down my life in service and protection of your Pack. You are my mentor, my leader, and my friend. I promise to love you, guide you, and follow you to the full extent of my capabilities. I will follow where you lead and only bitch sometimes. Will you accept my vow?"

Peter stood still, his eyes searching Stiles' face. Stiles could see the uncharacteristic tenseness of his body, inner conflict written on his face. It was so vulnerable, he wanted to turn away and give Peter time to compose himself. The man cared about his image more than almost anything. It made getting to know the real him both difficult and infuriating. But Stiles didn't turn away. He kept his eyes trained onto his, hoping Peter could see the confidence in his decision, his proclamation of unwavering loyalty. 

Accepting a vow of this capacity was a big deal. It was more of a formality than anything, because they were still bonded from before, but he needed to do it, not just for Peter but for himself. He honestly wanted to ask Peter to accept him as soon as he remembered about the Alpha change, but that was only after a week or two after everything happened, so it was way too soon, then. Then Stiles decided to leave, and he didn't want to make a vow to protect them just to leave them. Being here, back in Beacon Hills, Stiles couldn't wait any longer. Peter needed to know that his alliances wouldn't shift just because the Alpha spark was no longer Derek's. He needed to know that people had his back. 

After what felt like an eternity, Peter leaned forward, grabbing Stiles with careful hands, shifting into Beta shift smoothly before biting into the soft tissue of his shoulder, sinking his teeth into his skin until it was deep enough to leave an imprint of every tooth, but no more. Stiles closed his eyes, feeling the current of magic washing through his body, turning cool and calming as it washed across the bite. Peter pulled away, his bottom lip tinged red. 

"Stiles Stilinski, I accept your vow, even if you are a spaz that attracts trouble like an irritating little magnet. I will lead you, protect you, and teach you to the best of my ability, even if you probably won't listen and you will bitch more than you say you will."

Stiles grinned and let a small laugh escape. 

"Probably right. Eloquently put, Alpha."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Quite." 

Peter motioned to come inside and Stiles obliged. Peter walked toward the bathroom, and Stiles made his way to the living room, which to his surprise and relief, looked completely renovated. He took a shaky breath as he plopped down onto a comfy leather couch, taking in the rest of the room. The old Pack House living room was mostly furnished by whatever the girls picked out because Peter was living in his own apartment. Each girl brought something a little different to the space, making it seem like a gallery of different aesthetics. This one obviously still had touches of Lydia, the canvases and paint being two of her obvious choices, but there were more masculine features to the room now that weren't there before. Everything was angular and modern, blending together flawlessly, complimenting one or more other pieces. It looked more professional than the comfy atmosphere the old living room, but Stiles didn't hate the change. 

Peter joined him in the living room, gauze and medical tape in hand. He pulled two waters from the mini fridge behind the new built in bar and sat in the chair closest to the coffee table. "Now, if you are done professing life altering vows, would you care to tell me why you're here?"

Stiles quirked an eyebrow. "What, is professing life altering vows not a good enough reason?"

Peter's mouth opened, closed, and opened again, then let out a sigh so exasperated, Stiles was sure it took half his soul with him. He grabbed the gauze and leaned closer to Stiles, covering the bite with it carefully. "I don't know how it was possible, but I seemed to have forgotten the severity of your snark. Beacon Hills, Stiles. Why are you in Beacon Hills?"

The day Stiles left, he had expected Peter to come with him, to vow vengeance for his last remaining family member's death, ripping throats out and breaking limbs when needed, and devising plans when it wasn't. Stiles wasn't alone in thinking so either. He warned his father and Lydia of his plans as to not shock them, and they were all prepared for Stiles to accept Peter's help. However, when he told everyone he needed to leave, Peter just nodded along with the others. Stiles let it go without question and left. It was only after Lydia had sat on the idea for about a month that she gave up what little tact she had around Peter and asked him forthright. 

Peter wasn't insane anymore. He killed everyone involved the last time his Pack was killed and it didn't change anything. This time, there were people he still needed to protect. There was Pack left, ones that looked to him and needed him. Sure, it was small and broken, scattered to the wind, but he was going to keep Beacon Hills territory safe for when they came back. When, not if. Which only made him feel worse that the only person he had told everything to was his father, but that was about to change. 

"Would you like to hear why I'm intentionally here or accidentally?" 

"What kind of question is that?" Peter asked, rolling his eyes. Stiles lifted his hands, palms up, making a stupid face as he pretended to weigh the options in his hands. "If I must choose, intentions trump accidents, I guess."

Stiles let out a quiet sigh of relief. He wasn't quite ready to be a tattle tale. 

"I've run out of leads, and I found some things out that could change your position in all this. Before I tell you, you gotta know I kept it from you as long as I could. I don't know if that will make it worse or better, though," Stiles said, frowning. Peter put a bit of tape on each of the corners to keep the gauze from moving, his lips pressed in a tight line. 

Peter just nodded. 

Stiles' frown deepened, but he didn't complain. He had never really been good at reading Peter, not for a lack of trying, but without his words to pick apart and guide his thoughts, it was even harder to guess what was going on in his head. So instead of trying, he told Peter everything he learned, staring with Winchester. He told him about how Kate somehow survived and manipulated John into believing that he was killing a feral Pack, and that John lost contact with her almost immediately after. John was able to get Stiles close a few times, only a day or two behind her before she was in the wind again, but she stayed moving more than the Winchester boys. Peter nodded at appropriate times, only flashing his alpha red eyes at the mention of his theory that Kate biding her time to return. 

When he was finally finished, Stiles realized he was almost in fetal position on the couch. He didn't move, enjoying the warmth and security.

"It appears Kate is more cockroach than hunter," Peter said finally. Stiles hummed in agreement. "We will find her. I have no doubts about that. Until then, we do what we can and update the rest of the Pack."

"Sounds like a plan," Stiles agreed. 

"I'm assuming that Miss Martin had kept you up to date with the current crisis?" Peter asked, taking a drink from his bottle. 

"You mean all the supes coming out to play? Yeah, I've been helping identify them. Have any theories up there in that giant Alpha noggin?"

Peter shrugged. "I'd hate to say until I'm sure, but I know for sure you won't like what I have in mind."

"Is that your way of dismissing me?" Stiles teased. 

"You're learning fast." Stiles laughed. "Now, explain your 'accidental appearance.'" Peter said the words as if he were indulging a child in a crazed fantasy. 

Stiles rehearsed this part of the explanation in the car, which of course meant absolutely nothing.

"I teleported. I don't even have my car," Stiles blurted, sounding more petulant than he had been aiming for. "I was sitting in the front seat and poof. I disapparated. I know Deaton said I wasn't Harry Potter but-"

"You teleported?” Peter asked, looking worried. “How? Isn’t that fairly difficult?”

Stiles leaned his head back against the back of the couch and rolled it around, shaking his head. How indeed? Was it a reaction to his friends being in danger? Was it that he had been thinking of coming home just minutes before? They probably wouldn’t ever know. Magic wasn’t particularly good at supplying answers in Stiles experience. 

"I have theories, but I am not explaining this to you by myself. I am but a measly messenger.” 

Peter raised a brow. “Measly? There are quite a few words I could use to describe you, but that is not one that comes to mind.”

“Noted. However, point stands. You are needed at Jackson's loft. Prepare yourself to be all,” Stiles held up his hands, emitting a unconvincing growling sound and making fangs with his fingers. 

“You could just say angry or displeased, Stiles,” Peter said, trying to look irritated but failing as a crooked smile bloomed on his face. Stiles grinned. “What exactly are we going to be discussing, if I may ask?

“Nope. Not happening. I refuse to be the one that lets you in on your beta's escapades," Stiles declared. 

Peter's eyes widened, obviously shocked that there was any escapades to be informed of, and he saw the quickest flash of hurt before it was schooled into an expression that Stiles wasn’t sure he would ever see again. His eyes were sharp and darkened, a menacing aura enveloping him, his confident posture daring anyone to cross him. The transition was so fast, so clean that Stiles wondered if he had seen his pain at all. How many times had he covered emotions this way before?

"Escapades, mm?”

Stiles just gaped at him, unable to form words. 

“Very well. I will meet you at the loft in an hour."

Peter rocked forward in chair, pulling himself to his feet, then walked to the stairs. Maybe it was because he was a little emotionally raw from being back in town, but seeing Peter’s back turned toward him made Stiles feel automatically and irrationally anxious. He stood up, a bit frantic, trying to think of something to say, but his mind was blank. 

“It’s not as bad as what you think,” Stiles tried, calling out to Peter’s retreating form. Peter stopped halfway up the stairs, glancing at Stiles. “It’s not ideal, I guess, and they were being stupid trying to keep us out of it, but they need you. We need you. No matter what we have to do, we will figure it out. I promise.”

Peter relaxed a fraction, and gave him a curt nod. “An hour. Take my card and order food.”

"Aye aye, Alpha," Stiles saluted. “See you soon.” 


	4. Trouble Trio

Stiles knew from the looks on the Pack’s faces when he pulled back to the loft that something was up. The three of them were sitting at the patio, obviously waiting for him, not talking or playing with their phones. Allison was shooting worried glances between Jackson and Lydia, her hands tightly knit on the table, going over everything she was wanting to explain in her head. They stood as he approached and he raised a brow at them, setting the bags of food down on the table. 

"What happened?" 

Allison and Jackson both looked instinctively to Lydia. She rolled her eyes as if able to feel their eyes on her back. There was a irritated set to her jaw, but she didn't flinch away from the problem. A normal person wouldn't have thought anything of it, but he was friends with Lydia. Best friends, for a long time, actually. To him they still were. He knew that Lydia wasn't made of stone, but she sure could make herself look it when she needed to. Which begged the question. 

"Gunna fill me in on the reason behind this awkward intervention or not?" 

Stiles could see the hesitation on all of their faces. Allison and Lydia both looked more tired than they did the night before, dark circles probably highlighted in the brightness of day. Lydia was wearing one of her more comfortable outfits, but still looked gorgeous as ever and Allison was wearing a lace tank top and sweats that would’ve made Scotty drool. Jackson’s irritated scowl deepened with the length of the silence, and after a minute he growled, a low rumble in his chest. 

"Fine!" Lydia turned and snapped at him. Stiles was shocked at the exchange, surprised and a bit relieved the growl wasn't meant for him. She brushed her stray hairs out of her face and shifted on her feet. "We need to know. Are you staying or not?"

"Of course I'm staying," Stiles said, brows furrowing. 

Jackson’s shoulders relaxed slightly but his face stayed passive. 

“Of course, he says,” Lydia faked a smile. “How were we supposed to know that when you magically popped in with no prior signs that you were even thinking of returning?”

"I’ve been thinking of coming back for a while, FYI, but even if I wasn’t, you think I'm going to bail with the Winchesters here and more and more creatures popping up everyday like it’s a game of freakin’ whack-a-mole?"

"The Winchesters aren't a problem and we've been dealing with the supernatural just fine," Allison said tersely. 

Stiles rolled his eyes, raising and dropping his arms at his side. Yeah, right. Like they hadn’t called him a billion times since he left. What the hell was her deal?

"You guys realize that they are hunters, right? And not like you or Chris. They kill anything supernatural and they don't hesitate," Stiles said, pointing at her.

"If you really believe that then why did you-" Allison stated, heat in her voice.

"Why did I point them to you?" Stiles guessed, angrily. "I was hoping maybe you could preach the good word, convert them to non-psychotic killers from a distance, not invite them over for teatime and let them murder Jackson over desert," Stiles said, flailing incredulously. Allison flinched at the word murder. “You should know better than to trust hunters.”

“I am a hunter,” Allison protested. “Not all of us are like that.”

“I just said-“ Stiles started. 

"Plus, they saw Jackson shift last night," Lydia argued. “They could have killed him but they didn’t.”

"They didn't kill him last night, that doesn't mean they won't try to in the future," Stiles yelled. How did they think this was okay? This was the opposite of okay. The risk of bringing hunters in with a history like theirs, they were lucky the Winchesters didn't shoot on sight. Stiles suddenly stilled, and his mouth dropped open. At the back of his mind, the implication of her argument snapped into place, hitting Stiles in the gut like a punch. "You didn't tell them there were werewolves here."

"What?" Lydia asked, flushing.

"You didn't tell them there were werewolves. You invited them into Beacon Hills, offering asylum without Peter’s permission and they didn't even know what they were getting into until they saw Jackson shift."

"What?" Jackson snapped, rounding on the girls. “Is that true?” 

Allison's face drained and Lydia's eyes narrowed. Lydia knew this argument would happen some time today, but she couldn’t bring herself to regret the decision. When the Winchesters called and reached out to them, they had an an opportunity to help, and they took it. Allison may have been the one that excluded the information when she extended the helping hand, but it was Lydia who chose to keep it from them until they were already here. She had a plan to tell them everything, but plans weren’t her strong suit. Especially when people don’t follow the script by showing up injured with hunters in tow. 

“They knew we had a pack before and they were still willing to consider-“

"What the hell?" Jackson snapped, cutting her off. Lydia stepped back, surprised. "What would you have done if they tried to kill me? You told me they would be fine!"

"They were fine! They didn’t try anything, not even once.”

"They knew you were on our side as soon as you started taking the hunters out," Allison said. 

“Unbefuckinglievable,” Jackson scoffed, running a hand through his hair. 

"They know I'm a banshee," Lydia blurted, uncharacteristically. She motioned toward Stiles. "Obviously they know you're a Spark. They said they were willing to think about all of this, so we figured we would ease them into it."

"You only invite killers into the den after their contemplation of life decisions Lydia, not during," Stiles said, crossing his arms. 

"You guys are idiots and I don’t feel like joining the Pack Plot because you guys make shit judgement calls," Jackson said, pushing past the girls and walking toward his car. Lydia flinched, a flash of hurt gone before Stiles could call her on it. She looked after him, worriedly, torn between giving him space and wanting to pull him back and try to explain. Stiles stopped him from passing, and Jackson shoved him out of the way, knocking Stiles’ chest into Allison’s car. Stiles spun and grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Come on, Jacks, I know you’re pissed off, I am too, but you gotta stay.”

Jackson rounded on him, eyes blazing. "That's rich, coming from you, Stilinski. Running away is kind of your thing, isn’t it?”

Stiles knew it. He freaking knew that they thought that way. He wasn't home a full day and they were already throwing it in his face that he left. It didn’t matter that he was trying to find their friend’s killer. It didn’t matter that Stiles knew he would never sleep well again knowing the person who killed part of his family could come back to finish the job at any time. None of it mattered, because all they saw was that he left. Stiles schooled his expression into an irritated look of incredulity and shrugged. 

“I’m sorry, but didn’t you fly off to Europe or was that some kind of weird grief induced hallucination? Must’ve been because I didn’t even know you were back.” 

Jackson turned his head away, jaw tense. 

“Don’t even try to push your guilt on to Jackson. He came back months ago,” Lydia said, firmly. She didn’t love him anymore, or if she did that love evolved into something completely different than what they had in the beginning, but the lack of romantic feelings didn’t mean she liked him being mad at her. Jackson didn’t move, refusing to look up at her. She sighed and turned her eyes back to Stiles. “Months ago, Stiles. You were the one that wouldn’t come back.”

Stiles looked between the three of them and scoffed. “How was I supposed to know you wanted me to? Every time someone says they miss me I’m supposed to run home? I’ve talked to all of you several times a week, and you guys are acting like I’m some bad guy because I didn’t know something you refused to tell me. How many times did I ask how Europe was, or if you guys had talked to Jackson?”

“He didn’t want you to know,” Allison said quietly, making Stiles’ face drop. He looked to Jackson, but his face was still angrily pointed to the ground. 

Okay, ouch.

The door to the loft opened behind Lydia and Allison and they all turned. Sam was standing there, less bloody than he looked the night before, Castiel a step behind them, both looking like deer in headlights. 

“Nobody was upstairs,” Sam said his thumb thrown behind his shoulder, trying to get a read on the atmosphere. 

“Our Alpha will be here soon,” Stiles said casually, grabbing the food from the table and walking toward the door. “Will there be a problem?”

Stiles watched intently as Sam looked to Lydia for guidance. He made a mental note of that, wanting to ask just how close they’d gotten over the last week that he would trust her judgement. She gave him a curt nod and he cleared his throat. “No. No not at all, it’ll be fine.”

Stiles looked to Castiel, who wore a deep frown as his blue eyes roamed over Stiles appraisingly. 

“No harm will come to anyone in your group as long as the same courtesy is granted to ours, Spark,” he answered gruffly. 

Stiles huffed out an unamused laugh. “Right. Like you’ve ever cared if you were struck first before.”

“Stiles, we aren’t doing this,” Allison said, her back straight, voice dripping with authority. Stiles continued to stare at Sam, who swallowed nervously, seemingly itching to defend himself. Stiles stepped closer, until he was having to look up to meet Sam’s eyes. 

“Stiles,” She warned. He ignored her, eyes flashing a bright gold.

“I’ve seen what Winchesters can do, and it’s pretty impressive, but it’s nothing compared to what I’m capable of. Remember that.”

Stiles slipped past the two men and walked to the kitchen to set out the plates. It was going to be a long morning. 

*****

Peter was not thrilled. In fact, he was quietly livid, a feeling he was unaware he was capable of anymore. He would like to blame his Pack’s blatant show of insubordination via omission to their lack of instinctual obligation to follow the werewolf hierarchy, but the fact was, they didn’t trust him. He didn’t blame them, of course. Not really. It still bothered him, though. If they expected him to fly off the handle and murder the Hunters, or if they thought he would rip them from his pack, he wasn’t sure, but the idea of them cavorting around with Hunters without him knowing was enough to make his stomach roll. 

“Very stupid,” Peter concluded, tracing his fingers along the desk near the back of the living room. The betas winced. There were empty plates littering the coffee table, half drank coffees still steaming in their cups. Explaining the nights events had gone smoother than they expected, but Stiles hadn’t missed the pack’s reluctance to meet Peter’s eyes.

“Allison, I assume that you were hoping to integrate the Winchesters and their blue eyed friend into your little circle?”

“Castiel,” Sam offered awkwardly. Peter smirked at him. He was a tall guy, his legs looking incredibly long folded almost to his chest as he sat on the small couch, but something was a bit childish about him too. Sam reminded him of one of those puppies that get gigantic overnight then can’t control their limbs. 

Allison nodded sheepishly. “We contacted them for the first time two weeks ago. Stiles told us after he met John they could be an asset if we could convince them to ally with us, but we blew off the idea when Stiles sent us the file on them.”

“What? Really?” Sam asked, brows pinched together. He looked at Stiles. “Why? What was in it?”

“You know, little bit of this, little bit of that. Rap sheet a mile long complete with all of your supernatural conquests, aliases, all that good stuff. I told them you’d be a bit rough around the edges.”

“We figured you guys wouldn’t be willing to see past what your father taught you,” Allison admitted. “Unteaching hatred is really difficult.”

“We don’t need to be untaught anything,” Dean said from beside his brother on the couch. He hadn’t said much since he finally made his way down the stairs this morning besides a quick “thanks for breakfast” and asking where the coffee cups were. 

“A werewolf, a banshee, and a Spark saved your ass last night. Maybe you need to put your shit in perspective,” Stiles snapped. Peter rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. This wasn’t going as well as he’d planned. 

“So you’re telling me because three supernatural creatures in the hundreds I’ve seen kill people saved me, I should stop saving people from said crazed monsters and bring them flowers instead?” Dean shot back, a challenging gleam in his eye. Sam grabbed his arm, but Dean didn’t even look down. He wasn’t going to let some kid make him feel bad for doing what was right, for doing what his dad taught him to do. 

“I’m telling you that there are bad things in the world and good things, and I happen to know you kill both. Must be a Winchester thing.”

“Enough,” Peter said, voice dripping with in Alpha command. Stiles wasn’t nearly as effected as the werewolf betas would have been, but he shut his mouth regardless. “Continue, Allison.”

“Anyway,” She said slowly, gauging the room. “We tried to see if they were interested, and we got shot down. We weren’t surprised really, especially with how much I fumbled over introductions. Then they called a few days ago, saying that they needed somewhere to go for a few days, that their friend Bobby’s place was compromised and they had nowhere else to lay low.”

“To be fair, we didn’t know you were kids,” Dean said, looking uncomfortable. “We wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

“We aren’t kids, we’re 19. I know you hunters tend to jump to conclusions, but let me be the one to tell you, underestimating us is not in your best interest,” Jackson said, darkly. Dean quirked an eyebrow, looking skeptical at best. 

Peter groaned inwardly, rolling his head back. How did he get stuck dealing with the children alone? He blamed Derek. He looked to Stiles, motioning to Jackson as if to say, “wanna step in?”

Stiles shrugged. “He’s not wrong.”

Peter let out a long suffering sigh and chose to ignore both of them, turning to the trio. 

“I understand that Allison and Lydia promised you asylum. They are my pack, so I will honor their promise,” he glared at them, letting them know how much he hated that fact, “but there are conditions. You can agree to them, or you will leave.”

All three of the guests tensed, but didn’t object, which seemed like a good sign. 

“You will not harm anyone in Beacon Hills, supernatural or otherwise. This is my territory, and that makes it my duty to protect everyone inside. To ensure that continues, either Stiles or Jackson will be with you at all times and you will adopt the Argent Code for the entirety of your stay. We can reevaluate when you choose to leave.”

“They don’t understand the code. They aren’t normal Hunters,” Allison said, shaking her head. “Their dad was just a normal guy. He’s not from a hunting family. They just kind of-“ she looked at her hands and made a weird circular motion, trying to figure out how to phrase it. 

“We follow leads, alright? We know what to look for. We follow the dead bodies, do some research, kill the culprit, rinse, lather, repeat. We don’t need fancy archives and books or codes,” Dean said, shooting Stiles a look. 

“Then teach them,” Peter said to Allison simply, looking unfazed by the outburst. 

Allison nodded, trying to look confident. “Okay. I can do that.”

“I must ask how you intend to keep Dean and Sam safe. Even with my capabilities I was unable to keep them out of danger. This is a small town with very few people and I sense no defenses in this building,” Castiel said, looking around the room. “It would be very easy to ambush and overpower us.”

Peter frowned at the question, following Castiel’s eyes to the front door. When he and Derek lived there before, they saw the single entryway as a benefit because their enemy would only be able to come in from direction, and they would survive the jump through a window if they needed to leave in an emergency. It wasn’t ideal, sure, but it was a plausible plan of action. Now, there would be mostly human people living there, and the possibility of their survival was...less. They hadn’t considered that only one way in also meant only one way out for humans. 

“I’ve been working on defensive spells since I left,” Stiles piped up. “I’ll need a bit of everyone’s blood before you leave.”

“My blood?” Dean asked. “Seriously?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. Why did he think this guy was hot again? Oh yeah. The eyes. And the face. His ass wasn’t bad either. He shook his head, trying to free himself from that very inconveniently timed train of thought. “It ties the spell to you.”

“How does it work?” Lydia asked, and Stiles had to hide the blip of happiness he felt at seeing a flicker of her usual self. Curious. Interested. Bright. 

“Just a boundary spell, sort of, except it doesn’t really keep anyone out. I guess you could say it’s like a magical trip wire. If anybody hoping to harm, maim or otherwise kill us crosses the boundary, it will notify each of us like a built in alarm system.”

Stiles was a bit hesitant to use this spell, mostly because it was a constant drain while being used. It wasn’t a lot and shouldn’t be a problem considering how much of stamina he had built over the last few month, but even if it was comparable to a small leak in an ever filling pool, it was still something he should keep in mind.

Lydia nodded impressed, lips turned down. “Nice. Modify that spell yourself?”

Stiles gave her a goofy lopsided smile and shrugged. 

“That is efficient enough as a defensive spell, but I don’t think it’s enough. I have a few spells marked in a book at home that may help deter hunters from the loft, but you may have to procure a few ingredients from Deaton,” Peter said, looking thoughtful. 

“As long as you guys don’t fuck up my loft,” Jackson said, looking put off. “I don’t want any explosions or blood sigils on my front door, thanks.”

Sam scrunched up his nose at the thought and Dean sighed heavily. 

“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what we are really doing here,” Dean said, standing up in frustration. “What the hell are we trying to accomplish?”

“Dean,” Sam protested, pulling him back down. 

“No, seriously. Last night I get. We were running for days, yada yada, you helped us and that’s freaking awesome. I may be a dick but I appreciate it,!okay? But why are we staying? We could probably stay ahead of these guys if we wanted,” Dean said. “Why turn into sitting ducks and hope that these guys are half as good as they say they are?”

“There won’t be just a few people coming after you and Sam. There will be dozens, coming from all directions. They will be ruthless and some of them are using supernaturals to hunt,” Castiel said. 

Stiles and Peter shared a look. 

“Why are they after you?” Peter asked. Lydia started to object to the question but Peter’s eyes flashed red. “I’m trying to protect what’s left of my Pack, Miss Martin. It is a logical question.”

Lydia nodded at him, clenching her fist where it sat on the arm of her chair. 

“Kate put a bounty on their heads,” Castiel answered. 

The whole pack tensed at the name. Stiles couldn’t help but wonder if this is how people from Hogwarts felt about Voldemort. He could almost see the logic in avoiding his name. The feeling of dread that washed over them was thick and dirty and malicious. He hated it. He hated her. 

Dean looked over, confused, not noticing the change in atmosphere. “What? How do you know?”

Sam’s eyes widened beside Dean and Castiel fell silent. 

“He heard it. Around. He said last night that he found us as soon as he could. We just got lucky that he was able to get to us when he did,” Sam said, shooting strange looks at Castiel when Dean wasn’t looking. Peter tilted his head, pulling himself out of his own mind as he watched the exchange, warily. Something was going on there between trench coat and overgrown puppy. He leaned against the desk, feet and arms crossed, trying to look disinterested as they talked. 

Dean was seething beside them. He knew he should’ve sat on the other couch. Since when was he the one getting left out of conversations? “What else are you not telling us Cas? Anything else you want to share with the class?”

Castiel shook his head, looking as if he’d been scolded. Dean just scoffed, feeling his anger dampening at the look on Castiel’s face. To say the last week was hard was an understatement. Going from not having seen Cas at all to being stuck with him, not being able to ask him all the questions burning in his mind, it was torture. He shifted slightly away, and looked at Stiles.

“So Kate...she really is..?”

“Batshit crazy? Absolutely,” Stiles said, the usual heat in his voice down to a simmer. Allison grimaced, but nobody commented on it. Everyone fell silent, thinking over everything that they had discussed. Dean looked at his intertwined fingers where they sat between his legs, thinking it over. If Kate was half as ruthless as these kids say she was, she wouldn’t give up. If it were just him she was after, he could possibly risk it, but knowing she was after Sammy? He was a pain in the ass, but now way was he letting some bounty knock them on their asses after everything. Could he really trust a bunch of kids to keep his brother safe though? He looked up at Stiles.

His eyes widened a fraction when he saw how much the kid had changed in a matter of minutes. The cocky sarcastic shell had broken away to something soft and vulnerable, even with his defensive, arm-crossed stance. His brown hair was falling in his face, covering eyes that were clouded over, obviously deep in thought about what Dean could only imagine as painful. Seeing him like that felt almost like an invasion of privacy, something personal and secret, so he peeled his eyes away, flushing. 

“We can find her through the bounty couldn’t we?” Allison asked, perking up suddenly. “Bounties are usually posted through the Archives so we could ask Danny.”

“What is up with you guys wanting to involve people?” Stiles snapped. “Last night you wanted to call Melissa, today it’s Danny. Next you’ll be wanting my dad to-“ Stiles blanched and he pressed his hands against his face so hard it hurt. “Oh fuck.”

“What?” Jackson asked nervously. 

“I forgot to call dad. He doesn’t even know I’m back yet,” Stiles said miserably. 

Peter laughed, shaking his head, then looked at the Trouble Trio. “And you guys thought you were in trouble.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry for taking a few days, I was trying to decide which way I wanted to go with this. Thanks for reading, and as always, feedback and theories are welcome! 😊

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is my first fanfiction ever, so I would really appreciate feedback, good or otherwise. I will be trying to update once a day or every other day. Thanks for reading! 😊


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